In The Next Life
by BestINeverHad
Summary: Let's say that Brendan did die on the balcony. Two souls who've been apart for far too long. A chance meeting in a different time, in a different place. "In the next life, Steven." AU elements.
1. Chapter 1

**In The Next Life.**

Brief: Let's say that Brendan did die on the balcony. Two souls who've been apart for far too long. A chance meeting in a different time, in a different place. "In the next life, Steven."

Ste leans against the door of his home, clammy palms clenching into fists then unclenching with every shoot of pain caused by his nails digging in.

"Fucking bastard." He growls. A loud knock vibrates the door, booming, so heavy it almost makes the room shudder; he's sure of it. Another growl rumbles from low in his throat and he has to restrain from opening the door and smacking the man across the head with a plank.

"Ste, please!" Noah exclaims. The whine in his voice is enough to send Ste over the edge; he'd never realised until now just how whiney and annoying that man's voice was when he begged. It had now become a pet peeve, something that itched under his skin and made him want to rake his nails and pierce the flesh so he could bleed it out.

"Just do one, ight!" Ste yells, "It's not the first time, this, is it?! No, it's not! You're a lying, cheating cunt n' I never wanna see you again, ight!"

"Please, let me make it up to you, I swear things will be different! It didn't mean anything, I never meant to~"

"Never meant to wha', hurt me? Yeah well guess what, you 'ave!" Ste scoffs, anger leaking out through erratic beats of his heart, a quickened pulse and creased eyebrows; anything else would mean his fists would be planting holes in the door, so he relents. "Just leave, Noah, or I'll do somet tha' I won't regret!" There's a loud thud and a shuffle, then Noah's footsteps, getting quieter and quieter 'til he can't hear them anymore; a distant memory from now on. Ste sighs and sinks to the floor, head hung between his shoulders, his hands splayed over his face which is now marred by tears. He curses himself, enraged that he's crying, yet again, over that worthless cheat. With a sniff, he wipes his eyes and rolls them, suddenly breaking out in fits of distraught laughter – he's being stupid, right? There's no need to cry over someone like Noah. He gets up and rids himself of his uncomfortable clothing; rigid feeling jeans and a chequered shirt. This, after-all, had only been an outfit designed to impress his boyfriend - now ex boyfriend - to end up finding him snogging the face off some stranger in a hot tub. He was fuming. Now in only boxers, Ste threw his clothes into the bin, not wanting to wear them ever again. Not only were they uncomfortable, they were bought by Noah for him and they were worn as he caught his boyfriend cheating for the second time in a two and a half month relationship. Ridiculous! The clothes were simply ruined, marred by bad memories and stained with angry tears. For now, Ste slipped into a pair of his old tracksuit bottoms, the ones he wore for bed, and got under his duvet, pulling it to his chin and nuzzling against it. This would be his only comfort tonight, no warm, built body next to him to wrap his arms around. No muscled arms to flunk over him and envelope him and warmth; and what he once thought was love. But how could you cheat on someone if you loved them? You couldn't, could you? Ste sighs heavily and closes his eyes, feeling as though he has to physically push the images away. Noah and a stranger, locking lips and swapping spit, naked in a hot tub on the night before they were supposed to leave for Newcastle, land of the Geordies and homeland of his favourite artist, Cheryl Cole. Ste could only hope that tomorrow would be a bright and happy day, filled with cheery, genuinely nice and funny people. Lord knows he didn't need any more drama.

Waking up, Ste feels groggy; burning eyelids heavily weighted by fatigue and anger which still bubbled in the pit of his stomach. A shower is what he needed. Getting up, Ste stretches and yawns, looking over and seeing an empty bed. For some reason, it makes him smile. Maybe it's knowing that the space is no longer consumed by someone who doesn't deserve to be there, or maybe he prefers being alone. Who knows? With aching limbs he trudges into his bathroom, glances up and tuts at the sight of damp patches and peeling wallpapers, before removing his garments and twirling the knob of the shower. He stands, out of habit, with his arms wrapped self-consciously around his midriff, palms resting on the very slight muscles in his arms. Once the water is warmed, his arms drop to his side and he steps under, lets the hot water cascade gently over his tensed muscles and allows it to relax him, to make him feel more in one piece. He decides he's glad to be shot of Noah, the man was no good for him anyway, he only stayed with him for the feeling of a warm body next to his and the fact that he was gorgeous and funny. Aside from that, Noah was a terrible choice for a boyfriend. He couldn't stay faithful, he didn't enjoy the company of Ste's kids, – which was absolutely necessary if someone planned to spend their life with him – he didn't like Amy who Ste had a very close friendship with, despite her being his ex, and he was too soppy; that is, when he wasn't focussed on someone or something else. Ste nods to himself and takes Leah's strawberry shampoo, squeezing some out onto his palm and putting the bottle back, before he massages it into his scalp and finger-combs it through his tufts of hair. It was a way of saving money – something Ste didn't have a lot of. As he lathers his body in Lucas' lime body wash, there's the sound of a key turning in a lock and a loud squeal. Ste smiles, delighted. Amy and the kids are back. Finishing off his shower, he turns the water off and steps out onto a shower mat, grabbing a towel and ruffling his wet hair 'til it's only damp. He then pats down his body and ties the towel loose around his narrow hips, padding out of the bathroom to greet Amy and his little terrors.

"Hey, Ste!" She beams, gleeful as ever. That's something he loves about Amy; her bright smile and her eyes that seem to glisten all the time because she always manages to be happy. Ste sometimes gets a little envious that she has that about her, he wishes he could be that positive, wishes he could be an optimist.

"Hey, Ames." He smiles, planting a short kiss on her forehead. "Where'd the kids go?" He asks, as he spins around and looks for them.

"Oh, don't mind them, they'll be entertained for hours. Dad bought them some new toys and they seem to have fallen in love with them." Amy giggles, routing in the cupboards, no doubt, for teabags. Sure enough, she finds a box of Tetley and grabs two teabags from it. "Tea?" She asks and Ste nods with a smile. "So, where's lover boy?" She asks, making kissy faces. At that, Ste's smile falls to a frown and she sighs, instantly guessing what's happened. "Did he cheat?" He nods and she shakes her head, pulling him into his arms and blanketing him with her warmth and her calming scent of lavender and roses. Ste blames her body wash and perfume, she likes to believe it's her natural scent. "You're too good for him." She whispered and he nods.

"I know." He sighs, "I just wish I wasn't, wish that there'd be someone out there who wouldn't see me for the useless twat I am."

"Language," Amy warns, thumbing over her shoulder to the kids' room, "And no, you're not useless. Don't ever believe that for a second. You're an amazing man, Steven Hay, do you hear me?" He sighs and nods, a weak smile toying with his lips – he knows there's no point arguing with her and frankly, he isn't feeling up to it. Letting him go, she continues to make the cups of tea and smiles when she hands one over to Ste. He returns the smile and goes to sit down on the worn-out, stained settee, her joining him when her drink is made too. "So, did you hear? There's a new man in town."

"No, I did not hear," Ste grins, "Fill me in."

"Well apparently, he's from Dublin, got a really deep voice and they say he's proper fit even though he's got a moustache. They also say he's got a bit of a rep, a proper bad boy." She grins, quirky and teasing, with raised eyebrows. "I just hope he's not too much of a bad boy, but other than that he sounds like a proper dream man, doesn't he? A sexy, Irish bad boy." Ste chuckles and nods.

"That he does. You'll have to 'ave a flirt with him, see if he's interested in you, won't ya?" Ste smirks, "Sure he'd love to take you out, you're gorgeous and sweet and funny." Amy laughs, light and bubbly, genuinely amused.

"As true as that may be," She jokes, "He's gay. So I was thinking maybe _you_ could do the flirting."


	2. Chapter 2

Here in Milton Keynes, a place well-known for having 130 roundabouts, the sun shines quite often. Which means you can expect to find Ste lounging on the grass in his front garden when it's a hot day; the man loves hot weather. Here in Milton Keynes, is a little village Ste calls his home; a place where gossip travels fast and everyone knows everybody. Which is why Ste isn't surprised when he overhears his neighbours obsessing over the new Irishman in town.

"Have you seen him yet?!" Mitzeee shrieks, causing Ste to roll his eyes and hum tunelessly to try and block out the sound.

"Yes! Good God, he is sex on legs!" Her sister, Maxine, gushes. Ste tuts to himself. He doesn't understand what could be so God damn mesmerising about a person that everyone suddenly falls in love with them. Ste thinks David Beckham is the hottest footballer on Earth; you don't catch him squealing every time he's involved in a match. Not that Ste watches football – he's never really been able to get into that. Little Leah runs out of the front door, giddy and bubbly, two dolls clasped in each hand. The smile on her face is wide and bright; it warms Ste's heart.

"Daddy!" Leah exclaims, jumping up and landing on her knees by his side. She sounds as happy as she looks.

"Alright, baby, what's got ya so excited, eh?" He asks, a doting smile on his face, one that could only be worn by a parent. Only a parent will know the true extent of the joy felt when their child is happy.

"Look at my dollies!" She giggles, holding them out. One is a blonde Barbie wearing a pink dress, only just long enough to come past its bum, and white heels; whereas the other is a blonde Ken doll, wearing orange swimming trunks and a blue life-jacket. Ste frowns slightly; he only hopes that Leah won't grow to dress the same way she dresses her dolls. He's pretty sure he'd lock her up inside the house until she gave in and changed into something a lot less revealing.

"Very pretty." He says, the beaming smile returning to his face as he looks at the glow radiating from his daughter.

"Will you play with me, daddy?" She asks and Ste sighs and nods, sitting up and taking the Ken doll. Leah's smile only broadens – if that's possible. She crosses her legs like she would in school and places the Barbie's feet on the ground, making it walk – something that has an uncanny resemblance to how Ste walked for a while when he broke his coccyx. Only, that hadn't been amusing, that had been agonising and simply uncomfortable. Leah giggles and forces her daddy to make Ken walk over to Barbie; he obliges, only to feel like imploding on himself with embarrassment as she makes the two dolls kiss while making, as she calls it, 'smoochy smoochy' noises.

"Leah, that's so weird." He comments, but even he is unable to keep the goofy grin off his face as he looks at his strange daughter with nothing but admiration. Amy comes out with a yawning Lucas in her arms, not looking best pleased with the sight.

"I do hope you don't go around doing that to all the boys in your school, Leah." She mutters, almost incoherently, but both Ste and Leah hear her.

"No, mummy! I don't! I promise!" She squeaks, but by the way her cheeks flush pink, Ste and Amy are both left with frowns on their faces. They hadn't expected that Leah had a crush, let alone had been kissing boys. However, deciding not to embarrass the little one further, they change the subject and Ste carries on playing with his daughter.

"So, what are you doing tonight?" Amy asks, sitting down with a cupcake. The kids had been put to bed now, the sun disappearing underneath their side of the Earth. Ste shrugs, flicking through the channels absentmindedly; if he's honest, he's still upset over the whole Noah ordeal. "Why not go out with Doug and Riley? I'm sure they'll be up for a night out and you look like you could use one."

"So could you." Ste responds, averting his gaze from the TV to fix it on Amy. "You've been working really hard lately."

"I've not been working as hard as you, Mr Deli Man." Amy tuts, a teasing smile on her face. Ste rolls his eyes, playfully, and pushes at her half-heartedly. "I'll go out on Sunday, since I have Monday off from College. You enjoy yourself tonight." Ste contemplates it for a few moments, wondering if he should accept the offer.

"Yeah, yeah alright, go on then. Ta, Ames." He smiles, planting a kiss on her fore-head. She beams up at him and nods.

"No problem, babe." She says, before stealing the remote and turning on Coronation Street. Ste rolls his eyes fondly; always has been a soap-nut, that one. Grabbing his phone off the bedside cabinet, Ste thumbs through his contact list and finds Doug's number. With a grin, he dials the number and waits patiently for the American to answer.

"Hey, Ste." Doug chirps into the phone.

"Alright, wondered if ya wanted go out tonight, you, me, Riley n' anyone you guys might wanna bring along. You in?" Ste asks, drumming a messy rhythm with his fingers on top of his dresser.

"Definitely. See you in half an hour?" The American asks, eager and excited.

"Uh… probably forty." Ste chuckles, "Needa take a shower, been out in the sun all day with Leah, an' a?" At this, Doug laughs merrily and Ste smiles.

"Fair enough. Meet outside your house in forty." With that, Ste hangs up and puts his phone on charge. He routes through his wardrobe and settles on some tight-fitting, pale denim jeans and a hot pink polo shirt. He grabs a pair of neon orange boxers, ever the fashion icon, and lays the outfit on his bed, before grabbing a towel and making his way into the bathroom. There isn't hot water when Ste turns on the shower. Being as stubborn as he is, he doesn't wait for the water to heat up and instead, showers in icy water. He shivers and grumbles as he gives himself a quick wash, wondering why he had to be such an idiot. Trembling, he steps out of the shower and dives for his fluffy towel, wrapping it tight around him and revelling in the warmth it provides. Amy barges into the bathroom, startling Ste, with a plate of toast in her hands.

"You could've given me an 'eart attack, Ames!" He shrieks, hand on the left side of his chest and breathing heavily, trying to calm his thumping pulse. Amy just laughs and hands him the plate.

"Not having you drinking on an empty stomach, you lightweight." She smirks, taunting him with a little wink before shuffling away. Ste sighs but laughs slightly, scoffing the toast quicker than he ever has before. He knows she's right; the last time he drank on an empty stomach he woke up on the neighbours' roof. They weren't impressed, to say the least. Ste chuckles at the memory and leaves the plate in the bathroom, figuring that it's Amy's fault for giving it to him in there, and goes into his bedroom. Now dry, he drops his towel and gets dressed into his outfit, having to wear a belt with the jeans – scrawny little thing. He picks the towel up again and ruffles his hair dry, drops it, picks up a tub of wax and works it through his hair, leaving it in messy strands off to the right. He returns to the bathroom to brush his teeth, then retrieves his phone from the bedroom and coats himself with lynx. Sure enough, his phone beeps with a text from Doug, telling him they're outside. The American has also attached a little photo of Riley and him, posing camp. Doug's wearing a blue and red shirt with red chinos and Riley's wearing a white polo shirt and grey hoodie, with dark denim jeans.

"See ya later, Ames." He waves and practically runs out of the door. He's met by the sight of Doug on Riley's back. "Uh… right." He smirks, watching as Doug and Riley realise he's there. For a moment, they stare at him with blank expressions, before bursting out laughing. Doug slips off Riley's back and spreads his arms out for a hug, which Ste accepts gladly, before moving onto Riley.

"Let's go!" Riley booms.

The club is practically vibrating with the loud, thumping beat of the music. Modern dance tunes for everyone to lose themselves in, fast and upbeat. Men and women litter the dance floor, some of them proving to have quite a talent for dancing and others… not so much. Riley goes to the bar and orders a round for them all. Meanwhile, Ste's attention is drawn elsewhere. There's a huddle of girls; above their heads he can see a forehead with black hair, gelled into a short quiff, messy yet neat in its own way. Ste stands on his tiptoes and tries to see more of the mystery man's face, but just as he's about to, the man pushes through the crowd and walks off, back facing Ste. Ste sighs. For some reason, he was extremely curious about the man that stood between all those girls. He felt a little disappointed that he couldn't see his face. Doug taps him on the shoulder and Ste turns, coming face to face with a curious Doug, his thick eyebrows raised.

"Alright?" He asks and Ste nods with a smile.

"Yeah, fine, just wondered what all the commotion was about over there." He shrugs. Riley steps in.

"Apparently that was the new Irish fella." He shrugs, casual as you like.

"Really?" Doug questions, a sly smile growing across his face. Ste smirks.

"You curious too, huh?" Ste asks and Doug nods.

"Aren't you?" He questions and Ste also nods.

"Gotta be somet great about 'im, ant there? For all that fuss." He chuckles and Doug nods.

"Apparently he's a thug." Riley comments with a little shrug.

"I prefer the term… bad boy." Ste grins, adding a little wink for good measure. Just then, the music dies down and the sound of someone tapping a microphone fills the club. All attention is turned to the stage, where stands the most gorgeous man he's ever seen in his entire life. And his jaw drops. The man with the short, gelled quiff is tall and built, Ste can see the muscles straining against his shirt, which is unbuttoned at the top and revealing a splay of course chest hair. He's suited sharp, stands confidently and if Ste's honest, his stance is a little intimidating. His eyes are the deepest blue, like an ocean; Ste's sure you could drown in them. His jaw line is sharp, decorated with light stubble and his plump lips are complimented by a surprisingly sexy moustache. Ste decides that the man should be modelling, or in an old-fashioned film, by the way he's dressed and the aura he has. Set him up with a cigar and a top hat, Ste could see him in a black and white movie, the sexy gangster. It's only when the Irishman begins to speak that Ste is pulled back into reality.

"My name is Brendan Brady," The Irishman starts, his thick accent is gravelly, its Irish drawl being the sexiest thing Ste has ever heard, "And I'll be the new owner of this bar."


	3. Chapter 3

"My name is Brendan Brady," The Irishman starts, his thick accent is gravelly, its Irish drawl being the sexiest thing Ste has ever heard, "And I'll be the new owner of this bar." Only when Doug flicks Ste's chin, does he realise that he's had his jaw ajar for the whole time he's been looking at the Irishman. Ste blushes, cheeks flushed red and burning hot, while Doug simply laughs at him. "Tomorrow night from nine thirty, all drinks will be half price. There will be job availabilities, the interviews start on Monday noon. Enjoy the rest of your night." The way he spoke with such authority, such command, he in himself a figure that simply demands attention by entering a room, it gave Ste chills; he could feel the hairs prick at the back of his neck. The Irishman leaves the stage and the room fills with music again.

"Fuck." Ste breathes, turning to look at Doug and Riley, "He's so… God I can't even find words for him."

"I'm not much for the moustache. I'll give this one a miss. Besides, I can tell you're hot under the collar for him already." Doug winks, nudging Ste with his elbow, who once again blushes a violent red.

"I hate moustaches but on him it's just like… I don't even know. It just works, he's dead sexy, in'e?" Ste gushes. He realises now just what the glamour sisters were squealing over.

"Go meet him." Riley suggests, knocking back some vodka-coke. Ste frowns, becoming bashful, coy.

"Nah, even if someone like 'im would pay attention to me, what would a say? I ain't good with words, me." Ste sighs and the lads shrug, turning to the bar staff again and leaving Ste to ponder on his thoughts. It's at that moment, Ste sees a very familiar, tall, dark-skinned male. And the anger runs hot in his veins, boils to the point that he's sure his skin must be bright red. "I don't fuckin' believe it." He grumbles, pissed beyond belief. Doug swivels on his stool and follows Ste's gaze, his pool blue eyes landing on the gym freak with a gap in his smile; his own becoming a frown, as he settles a gaze on the male he marks as scum. Dread rises like bile as Ste realises Noah has seen him and is now making him over.

"Ste!" Calls that whiney voice. Ste visibly recoils and begins to scuttle elsewhere, however, with a club full of drunkards and dancers, movement proves anything but easy and the gym freak gains on him. "Ste!" He exclaims again, voice carrying easily over the thumping music.

"Oh just do one, will ya!" Ste yells, still trying to push his way away from him, struggling through the bustling crowds.

"Ste, please, just one more chance!" Noah begs. They reach the side of the stage and Ste has nowhere else to run; the door to the side of him leads to a staff office – he's pretty sure he'd be thrown out for trying to enter there. He's backed up against the wooden panels of the stage with no escape; he suddenly feels claustrophobic. "I can make it up to you."

"It's always just once more chance with you, ight! I'm sick of it! Leave me alone! I'll get a restraining order, I swear to God!" Ste screams.

"Everything okay here?" Asks a gravelly accent that makes Ste weak at the knees – he has to brace himself against the stage.

"This bastard here won't leave me alone," Ste looks at the Irishman briefly, before looking at Noah again and getting in his face, "We're over, ight! You're a liar and a cheat and you don't deserve me! Take a hint, I'm not giving you any more chances! You're not worth it!"

"Ste please just~"

"I tink it's time ye left, Muscle Mary. C'mon." The Irishman grips Noah's shoulders firmly, his long fingers splayed over their expanse and Ste can't help but stare. With command and control, the Irishman pushes Noah on his way; away from Ste. When sure that the gym freak won't be returning any time soon, the Irishman turns back to Ste and walks over to him and gives him a once over. Immediately, he knows why Muscle Mary had been so persistent. The lad is pure perfection. Golden, choppy hair falling just above dark eyebrows that compliment dazzling sapphire eyes, framed by ridiculously long, sooty lashes. His nose has a tilt at the end, which is oddly charming, and below his nose are a pair of the softest looking, most kissable lips the Irishman has ever seen; his boyish charm makes the Irishman's breath hitch in his throat. The lad has contours of soft, golden skin that Brendan really wouldn't mind grazing his palms over, wouldn't mind exploring every inch of it. It's only when Doug approaches the two, that they realise they've been staring at each other for the past five minutes. If Ste's honest, he'd have given anything for just a little more time to swim the Irishman's deep blue oceans.

"Me n' Riley are gonna go now, we've had enough, are you coming?" Doug asks Ste, who sighs and shrugs, about to turn away. A strong hand stops him.

"How about we have a couple drinks? On me, of course." The Irishman asks, offering his most dazzling smile. Ste's almost dizzy with it. He looks over at his friends, giving them puppy eyes, a silent plea – please let me stay with him. The American grins and pats Ste on the back.

"We'll see you tomorrow then." Riley waves and Doug follows him out, glancing back at Ste with a suggestive smirk before disappearing into the swamp of bodies. Ste turns and looks up at the Irishman with the moustached face and gives him a shy smile.

"Name's Brendan Brady," The Irishman sticks out his hand and Ste gives it a firm shake, admiring the way their hands seem to slot together perfectly, "Yerself?"

"Ste." He replies.

"Okay, Steven, nice name." The Irishman smirks; Ste is a little annoyed by the way Brendan addresses him, as he always is when someone uses his full name, but decides it's best not to say anything. Why jeopardise the offer of a drink with the hottest male on the planet over the issue of his name?

"So… that drink then?" He almost blushes as he says it, but the Irishman simply grins wider and places a hand on the small of Ste's back, escorting him over to the bar. Ste sits on a plush, leather stool and spins side-to-side a little, while the Irishman shuffles behind the bar and takes two glasses from the shelf, placing them on the countertop.

"What do ye wanna drink?" Brendan asks him, not at all ashamed as he, very obviously, let's his eyes travel and roam over the golden skinned male in front of him. Ste feels his cheeks warm under the intensity of the Irishman's gaze; it's penetrating and it burns through him. The Irishman is drinking in the sight of him.

"I'll just 'ave a Foster's Twist, me." Ste answers, feeling it only fair that he is allowed to do a little staring of his own. As the Irishman turns around for the alcohol, he steals a long look at his arse, licking his lips at the sight of it. He has the sudden urge to give it a little tap, but that would be weird and totally inappropriate. Instead, he settles for looking at it as long as he's able to – until the Irishman turns around again. When he does, he's got a smirk on his face.

"Enjoy the view did yis?" He asks, cocky and flirtatious.

"How the- I mean, no." Ste stumbles over his words like some pubescent teenage girl talking to her first crush; he mentally slaps himself for it. The Irishman simply winks and pours himself a Jameson's. Ste makes note of the Irishman's… acquired taste.

"So, how old are ye?" The Irishman asks, arching an eyebrow, inquisitive and curious.

"Twenty-three, me. You?"

"Twenty-nine." The Irishman shrugs, sipping back some more whiskey. Ste's eyes are immediately drawn to the way his Adam's apple bobs when he swallows, complimented by the thin stubble at the top of his neck. Everything about this man seems to scream masculinity, from the hair on his face and chest, to the classy, businessman loathers on his feet. "You got a job, Steven?"

"I own a deli." Ste smiles, puffing his chest slightly with pride. Two years ago, Ste would never have dreamed he'd be able to accomplish something as big as owning his own business. "With my mate Doug, the American guy that left earlier." The Irishman nods with raised eyebrows, impressed and intrigued. He hadn't pictured such a young man owning his own business, but, nevertheless, he was impressed.

A few drinks later and Ste is slightly dizzy, unable to stand straight for very long and he's giggling like nobody's business. The Irishman can't help but be amused; the lad is a real lightweight.

"Steven, did ye eat anything before ye came out?" Brendan asks, genuinely concerned. He doesn't want the boy flopping on him.

"Yeah, yeah, Amy made me some toast, me, for me, she did, she's like, such a good friend." Ste giggles, like he's just heard the most hilarious joke in the world. The Irishman rolls his eyes fondly, thinks he's going to enjoy embarrassing the lad the next morning when he reminds him of how drunk he was the night before, slurring and giggling and wobbling on his stool.

"Come on, Steven, let's go into the office. You need to calm down." Brendan breathes a light chuckle as he makes his way around the bar to the drunken Mancunian, watching as his grin broadens.

"Never been in an office, me!" He shrieks, delighted and seemingly joyful that he'll be entering one. Brendan, again, has to laugh to himself. The office isn't all that impressive; four papered walls, a desk, a computer, a computer chair, a settee and some filing cabinets. It's basic and dim, very poor lighting. However, Brendan enjoys sitting in it. It's a great place to think and relax and the dullness of it makes it easier to concentrate when he does work. He'd discovered this in a single day of working in it. He knew it'd be like his second home. With a slumping, stumbling, slurring Ste against his side, Brendan leads the Mancunian into the office and rolls his eyes, playfully, as he watches Ste gasp in awe of the place. "It's like, it's like, proper there, init? It's just like, there! It's an office!" Brendan can only hope there's film in that camera, up in the corner up the room. He'd love to show Ste tomorrow; in fact, he'd love to just sit there and watch it over with or without Ste there. This is the most amusement he's had the pleasure of experiencing for a long, long time. Too long. He's going to revel in every last bit of it.


	4. Chapter 4

There's a dull but painful thud in his head; the groan that escapes his parted, dry lips is unstoppable and loud. Ste shifts under the covers, succumbing to their warmth and comfort – for some reason, they do not smell like they did the other night. The scent of strawberries and lynx was gone; in its place is a musky scent of aftershave, something about it is masculine and it delights Ste's nostrils. He buries his face deeper into it and just breathes it in, until suddenly, realisation hits him like a ton of bricks. This is not his bed. He jumps out of it, regrettably, since it worsens the pain in his head, and scans the bed he just emerged from. It's a double bed; a black, leather headboard and black, white and grey bedding. On either side, a bedside table stands, various objects cluttering it. The room itself is rather dull, the same greyish, blackish, whitish theme all over; but it's… nice. It's modern and stylish, with an odd sense of comfort. Ste shudders. What the hell happened last night? His eyes widen for a moment and he quickly lands his eyes on his body, but the momentary rise of panic washes away as he is relieved to see he's wearing the same clothes as last night, just without the jeans and shoes.

"Ah, so you're up." The Irish drawl makes him jump out of his skin and he immediately realises where he is. Immediately, he feels his insides burn and churn as he takes in the sight before him. Brendan, naked except for boxers and socks. His body is lean and lithe, abs dusted by short hairs, thickening at his treasure trail. His chest is buff, muscles rippling under his flesh whenever he moves his arms, his big strong arms which are connected to broad, muscled shoulders. Ste feels hot at the sight of him, all barely concealed strength. He notices the tattoo of a cross on his bicep, the small tattoo on his chest covered by coarse hair. Lower down, he can see the large shape in his boxers. He swallows the lump in his throat and restrains from biting his lip.

"How… I mean… what?" Ste can barely form a sentence, too stunned for words. Why is he in the Irishman's bedroom?

"Ye got very, very, very drunk and I couldn't get a coherent address out of ye so… yeah. I brought ye back to mine, argued with ye about letting me sleep on the sofa so ye could have the bed and after about five minutes of that, well, ye kind of… sort of… stripped yerself of yer trousers and left yer shoes in the shower…" Ste can't help but notice the highly amused glint in Brendan's eye that compliments the little smirk on his face. He groans and buries his face into his hand, shaking his thumping head in embarrassment.

"So, basically, I made a right fool outta me self, dint a?" Brendan just chuckles, light-hearted and fond.

"Nah, ye were a delight Steven. Come on, I'll make ye some breakfast. I have to worn yis though, the most I'm capable of is some beans on toast or a fry up. Take yer pick." The Irishman grins, lopsided and dazzling; Ste can't help but sigh in content. What was 'bad boy' about this man? He might be a bit of a flirt, a bit of a tease, as far as Ste could tell but aside from that he seemed like a gentleman. He feels a little awkward, deciding on food in someone else's house. He's always had confidence issues when it comes to being in people's homes. Even his best friend of three years, Doug, has to urge him when they're in Doug's house. He never asks for food or drink, feels rude and cheeky.

"I, uh, I don't mind." Ste mumbles, a little shy, though really the sound of a fry up sounds amazing about now. As if he sees straight through him, the Irishman gives him a wolfish grin.

"Ye want a fry up, don't yis?" He smirks and Ste can't help but fixate his eyes on the carpet as his eyelashes flutter in embarrassment. "Come on then, we'll get ye some paracetamol too. That headache won't be doing ye any favours." Ste just nods silently and follows the Irishman as he saunters out to his kitchen. He suddenly feels very exposed as he realises he's in just boxers… and there's a tall woman with bright blonde coils, wearing an obscenely loud outfit, perched on Brendan's sofa. He suddenly feels alarmed; is this his wife? Girlfriend? The thought leaves his head as quickly as it came. _Duh, Ste! He's gay,_ he thinks to himself.

"Uh… Brendan, where are my trousers?" He asks, almost whispering. The woman on the sofa turns and looks at Ste, before breaking out in fits of booming laughter. He should feel insecure and insulted - she's laughing at him! But instead, he can't help let a small grin appear on his face. Her laughter is infectious and her smile is bright and dazzling; she has a light, cheerful aura and Ste realises she's not laughing at him, but laughing with him.

"S'alright, love, wouldn't be the first time Brendan's lost someone's trousers." At this, Ste feels the heat rise to his cheeks and hears the Irishman groan.

"Chez, no, he just slept here, nothing happened," The Irishman sighs, rubbing his temples. "Shouldn't ye be with Foxy?"

"No I should not! That arrogant pig has gone again and good riddance! Whatever was I doing with that waste of space?!" She shrieks, dramatic and theatrical. Ste accidently let's laughter spill from his lips, before covering his mouth and mumbling his apologies. The Irishman just grins at him.

"Glad ye finally saw the light, sis." He says to the blonde, who Ste heard him address as Chez, and she nods. Ah, so brother and sister. Ste then remembers the topic at hand and goes bright red.

"Brendan… trousers." Ste blushed and the Irishman chortles loudly.

"But this is a nice view." He winks and Ste can feel the heat spread like wildfire throughout his body.

"I, uh, t-trousers, um~"

"Oh Bren, ye are a nasty piece of work," His sister sighs affectionately, Ste notices the difference in their accents, both Irish but… different. "Come on, love, I'm pretty sure he said ye threw them into Lynsey's room when ye were searching for the toilet." Ste groans again, wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole. He feels ashamed he let himself get into such a state. Who enters the house of someone they've known for a few hours and dares to argue with them, gallivant around their house and strip to their underwear? What kind of a person does that? Well, he does, apparently.

After being allowed to have a shower while Cheryl washed his clothes, Ste finds himself feeling a lot better; clean, fed and headache gone. He can't thank the Irish siblings enough.

"Thanks so much, I'm really sorry 'bout whatever I did last night!" Ste breathes, offering his best smile. Cheryl simply fans her hand at him, as if waving him away, a goofy grin on her pretty face.

"No, love, don't be daft! Ye've been a delight!" She grins, enveloping him in a hug. He hadn't been expecting a hug by any means, but he welcomed it. She was warm and her hugs were strong but comfortable; she gave good hugs. When she breaks away, she smiles at him again then retreats back into her house. Brendan, who had insisted he walked Ste home, strolled out of the house in tight black jeans, a navy blue jumper and black loathers. Ste is loving how the jumper compliments his figure. He looks very, very hot. Brendan has a car, Ste knows this, it's right next to him. Ste also takes note of the fact that Brendan's house is expensive looking and large, his car parked in a wide, tarmac driveway in front of a glass conservatory. His front garden consists of a medium grass patch and a gravelled pathway that leads to a dull red door. However, they'd agreed on walking. Why not? It would make the journey longer and so, they'd have more time in each other's company. The walk would take about forty minutes, since Brendan lives in a secluded area towards the other end of the town, while Ste lives on an estate. Locking the door and shoving the keys in his pocket, Brendan turns to Ste and gives him a smile, before setting the pace of their walk. Ste finds himself scurrying after him, telling the Irishman to slow down; he takes big strides and Ste tells him there's no need to walk like that. The Irishman laughs and complies, shortening his strides and slowing his pace; the two walk calmly and quietly, 'til Ste's bursting need to ask questions takes a hold of him.

"So, why'd ya move from Ireland?" He asks and Brendan's smile fades a little.

"Uh, it's complicated really. I'd rather not get into it." The Irishman answers, his face devoid of any emotion and Ste can't help but feel a little rejected. Still, he shouldn't feel like that, he barely knew the Irishman; it wasn't his place to pry. If Brendan wanted to reveal parts of his life to Ste, then he would.

"Fair enough." Ste shrugs, glancing around the area they're in. It looks a lot more posh than Ste's area. Ste's estate is nice, yes, it's friendly looking and moderately clean, but this place is extremely fancy. The houses are modern and large, the brickwork of most of the houses is grey and it adds a futuristic feel to the place. The majority of the houses, in this small area, have large windows and fancy doors. Their front gardens are either neatly kept grass and a neat driveway, paving stones and a neat driveway or wooden decking and a stone path. Some of them have large black gates, with little boxes by the sides that you can type a code in to open the gates, or press a button and speak to the residents through an intercom. Despite all these modern, splash-the-cash looking houses, the area is less open than other areas of Milton Keynes and is surrounded by tall pine trees and grassland. Ste is mesmerised by the place.

"So, who's at home?" Brendan asks, chewing his gum languidly.

"Amy, me ex girlfriend who's now one of my best friends, and me two kids Leah and Lucas." Ste has to stifle his laughter as the Irishman nearly chokes on his gum. Shock is written all over his face.

"Ye've got kids, Steven?" He asks. Now, usually, Ste would've decided to correct someone if they called him Steven, but he can't help loving the way it sounds when Brendan says it. His gravelly accent makes it sound so… amazing. The way it rolls of his tongue gives Ste shivers.

"Yup. I know, I know. Don't look older enough, do a? See, well, Leah ain't mine, but I brought her up with Amy and I love her, so really she is mine. She's six. And Lucas is four years old. We were young, I guess." Ste shrugs, smiling softly as he thinks of his little terrors. "But our Leah is proper sassy, right. She's a bossy little miss." Ste grins, "Whereas Lucas is a lot more shy."

"Hmm, I think I can see where Leah gets her sass from." Brendan smirks.

"Ey arh! I ain't even given you any sass, yeah, I~" Ste stops halfway through his sentence as the Irishman smirks victoriously at him.

"Ye were saying, Steven?" He questions with a smug smirk, pleased as fucking punch, cat that got the cream.

"Shut up." Ste mumbles, shaking his head in exasperation. The Irishman just chuckles.


	5. Chapter 5

The two arrive at Ste's place in a comfortable silence; Ste feels content, relaxed, when he's with the Irishman. Who happens to be a sardonic sod; still though, it's all part of his charm.

"Ya wanna come in for a drink? Say ta? Warn ya though, me house ain't much of a pretty sight." Ste smiles, all coy and bashful, a slight tremor in his stomach – is he gonna reject the offer?

"I really shouldn't… but… yeah, go on then." Brendan smiles. Ste grins, hopes he doesn't look too eager, and twists his key in the lock, stepping inside his shabby yet comfortable little home. He should have remembered about the ever inquisitive Amy Barnes. At the sound of the key turning in the lock, she's up on her feet and standing by the doorway, mouth open and ready to rapid fire a whole bunch of questions – until she sees the tall, dark, handsome man behind him and her open mouth shuts, forming into a sly grin, all mischievous and smug. It's the, "I know what you did last night" look, except, she really doesn't. Because the obvious assumption would be that the two were up until four in the morning smashing the headboard against the wall; but no, he stripped, argued and passed out in the Irishman's bed. Ste isn't sure he wants to tell her of his embarrassing endeavours of protest.

"Oh, uh, Brendan… this is Ames, my best friend n' the mother of me kids." Ste mumbles shyly, "Amy this is Brendan, the new Irishman of Milton Keynes." Brendan smirks at his title, stifling a snigger; it doesn't go unnoticed by a blushing Ste.

"Ah, so what did you do last night then, or have I already guessed?" Amy smirks. Brendan's smirk grows wider; he hadn't been expected anyone so 'straight to the point'. He can also see what Ste would've seen in her, all those years ago before he really knew himself. Porcelain skin that looks soft to the touch, silky looking, light hair that frame her womanly shaped face, decorated with plump lips and bright silvery blue eyes framed by long lashes. She's gorgeous.

"Err, no Ames. I did something completely different and a lot more embarrassing and I'm not even gonna tell ya 'cause he's been laughing at me enough today." Ste grumbles, moving the Irishman into the house and shutting the door. "We're just gonna 'ave a drink." At this, Amy's eyes twinkle and she licks her lips.

"I'll leave you to it then. By the way, don't forget," Amy starts, voice growing louder as her figure disappears behind the bedroom wall, "You're babysitting tonight!" Ste knows, despite her dismissive actions, he'll be in for a round of quick-fire questions later on.

Time moves on; the two have been talking for half an hour, laughing and sharing information – nothing too personal, nothing too unimportant. It's not until Brendan checks his phone that the moments of temporary bliss are over.

"Sorry, Steven," He begins, stuffing his phone back into his pocket, "Duty calls. I'll see yis tomorrow?" Ste smiles, big and chuffed, nods his head and stands up. They walk out to the doorway and the Irishman turns around, glancing at Ste's lips briefly.

"I'll see you tomorrow, yeah." Ste confirms it verbally and waits for the Irishman to walk away – but he doesn't. Instead his hand is in Ste's pocket and Ste's breath catches in his throat, tingles shooting through his body. What the hell is he doing? Suddenly, Ste feels both the Irishman's hand and his phone being lifted out of his pocket and he gets it now. A few keyboard clicks later, the Irishman puts Ste's phone back in his pocket with a grin – Ste takes note that the Irishman prefers to do than to talk.

"My number," He says, "Text me or something." The Irishman adds a little wink at the end before walking away and Ste feels his legs quake underneath him, his knees going weak. That had to be the sexiest thing he had ever seen. Practically stumbling back into his house, love-drugged, some might say, Ste lays across the couch and grins to himself, pulling out his phone and going into his contact book. His laughter booms across the living room as he sees what Brendan has saved himself as. 'Brendan, the SEXY new Irishman of Milton Keynes'. His phone lights up, as if Brendan knows he's just seen the contact name. The message reads, 'you forgot about the sexy part when introducing me to yer lovely Amy'. Ste shakes his head, positively thrilled that the Irishman seems so keen.

'Bit full of yurself arnt yu' Ste replies, cringing in hope that he hasn't spelt too many words wrong. Of course, he has; but he likes to pretend for the sake of his dignity that he hasn't.

'I prefer to call it confidence' Brendan's message appears on the screen and Ste's already grinning again.

'I call it cockyness'

'We'll agree to disagree, Steven'

'Ste actualy'

'You never complained before'

'I fownd it hard to with that irish axent'

'Hmm'

'Sum might say it's the only thing yu got goin gud for yu'

'Charming, Steven, Charming'

'Ste. S T E. Oh my god lol'

'What can I say? I like to be provocative'

'Yu wot?'

'I like to be provocotive'

'Wots that?'

'Never mind Steven. Duty calls'

'Okay see ya'

'Bye bye' Ste couldn't help but find himself grinning, wide as the Cheshire cat. But one thing played on his mind. What does provocative mean?

"Ames!" He yells, thumping his way into her bedroom.

"Yup?" She smiles, routing through her wardrobe. He looks at his texts and frowns.

"What does pro… prov… provactive… mean?" He asks and she scowls, confused, brow creasing.

"Let me see." She holds out her hand and he passes her the phone. "Provocative, you numpty." She chuckles. "It means aggravating... annoying." Ste nods; he gets it now.

"Why would someone enjoy bein' annoyin'?" Amy merely sniggers and pats the bed next to her.

"Come on, what happened last night?" Ste blushes, cheeks burning crimson.

"Um, well apparently, I got smashed off me face and he couldn't get a co… a coherent, I think… he couldn't get a coherent address outta me so he took me back to his and apparently I argued about letting him sleep on the sofa and then stripped my clothes and left me shoes in his shower." Ste groans, completely pink from the neck upwards as Amy howls at him, head thrown back, mouth open wide and tears streaming, she's in fucking hysterics, absolutely pissing herself. "It ain't funny! It's well embarrassing!" Ste shrieks, burying his face into the pillows. Amy is still laughing and Ste figures he won't get a proper sentence out of her for a long while, so he gets up and leaves her be, going to find his kids and take them out.

Leah is suited and booted in a yellow raincoat with black tracksuit bottoms and pink wellington boots. Not her usual attire, but it's rainy and muddy outside. Lucas is dressed in a black raincoat with black tracksuit bottoms and black wellingtons. Something about that reminds Ste of when he was younger… a time of bruises and tears. But no one needs to know. No one, who doesn't already know, needs to know. Ste finds himself wondering what the Irishman's childhood must be like, as he waits for Lucas to finish buttoning his coat; he would bet money he had a great childhood to turn out as successful as he is now. When the kids are fully set, Ste, himself suited out in a full tracksuit and trainers with a beanie and a scarf, takes their hands and leads them out. They make their way through to the park, because Leah insists, despite the rain, that they have to have at least five minutes on the swings. She pretty much sasses Ste into agreeing. Cheeky little bugger. Outside is heavy and suffocating, stuffy, the air of anticipation, there's a storm due tonight. Thunder and lightning, maybe a bit of hail. There's a heady scent of wet pine and bark, damp concrete and something that smells an awful lot like when the washing is left in the machine for too long. Somehow, it doesn't seem to dim the kids' excitable moods, as they bound over to the swings, eager shrieks, "Daddy, daddy! Come push us!", echoing into the lonely park. Ste smiles and jogs over to them, begins to push them on the swings, gently at first, a hand for each one. It's when they kids start to protest that Ste is forced to push harder, despite his own childhood clawing at the back of his neck and reminding him what happened when Terry pushed him on the swings, its whispers sending chills down his spine as it tells him, it tells him why he shouldn't push them too hard; he doesn't want to break their ribs. Of course he doesn't. He'd never do that to little Leah and Lucas. But there's always that voice; that one that haunts his sleep, catches up with him and attacks him, forces his eyelids to peel open and body to shoot up, muscles convulsing as he pants and whimpers, cold sweat marring his skin. Terry. "You're more like me than you think, boy." That voice, sprinkling seeds of doubt into his mind, questioning his worth, questioning who he is – is this really who you are? Surely, there's a hint of Terry there. Look at what you did to Amy. Yeah, yeah you're definitely like him. Do you remember how you used to get chills, those tingles that made your skin raise? The power and the control you had over her; her fear gave you kicks. You're just like him. You're worthless and you're scum and you should be locked up.

"Daddy! I'm getting too wet now!" Leah squeals. She's got this huge smile on her face, despite complaining, and she's laughing and squealing. Ste smiles. She's having a good time, she's happy and that's because of him, isn't it? He's not like Terry at all. Yes you are. There's that voice again, but he shakes it off and nods, smiling weakly at his kids.

"Let's go get somet eat then, ay kids?" They hoot, cheering for food. They must be hungry; after all, it is dinner time. Gripping the swings, Ste stops them from soaring through the bitter cold winds and helps the kids down, taking them by the hand and grinning to himself. He knows exactly where they're going to go and get food from. They do food at the club that Brendan just bought, didn't they? In the day time at least. He knows it's a little pathetic, being so eager to see someone again, after only an hour or two since last seeing them, but he doesn't care. There's something about the Irishman that entices him, lures him, traps him in some fanciful cage and it's scary but it's amazing and he wants more.


	6. Chapter 6

The family arrive at the club; there's a low, droning sort of music, playing softly into the background, and hushed chatter amongst the small huddles of diners. It's a completely different atmosphere to last night, when the music had been thumping and it wasn't calming drone, it was full on dance classics and a little bit of alternative music, every now and then, to keep the… different… people happy. People had been shouting to hear each other, drinks spilled, tongues tying, fists flying and the whole scene was your typical "extreme night out". Now, the sunlight seeps through the windows, casts shadows across the room and warms the seating areas that are closest to the windows. Ste hushes his excitable children and takes them to a table, has them sit down and entertain themselves with the colouring sheet and crayons he picked up for them on the way in. He doesn't see Brendan yet; he assumes he'll be in the office. "Duty calls", the Irishman had text him. Ste now assumes he meant doing paperwork and filling forms for full ownership of this swanky little club. He stands at the bar and waves over the bartender, a young looking man, probably around the same age as Ste, or maybe a couple years older, with thick, light brown hair and milky skin.

"What can I get ya?" He asks Ste, his tone bored, as though he doesn't enjoy his job – or rather, he doesn't feel happy to work under his new management. Brendan Brady.

"Can I 'ave a menu n' a kids menu, please?" The barman nods and routes under the counter, pulls out a red menu and hands it to Ste, who thanks him and goes to sit with his kids. "Right, kids! What ya 'avin'?"

"Chicken nuggets and chips!" Leah all but screeches; Ste has to shush her again.

"Fish fingers, please, daddy." Lucas mumbles. Ste smiles affectionately; looks like he didn't need the kids menu after all.

The food comes relatively quickly – still no sign of Brendan – and it's eaten relatively quickly, too. It doesn't stop the kids from begging for ice cream, which Ste gets for them because it's nice to spoil his kids every now and then, even if he doesn't necessarily have the money for it. The ice cream comes quicker than the food, quite obviously, and the kids tuck in while Ste looks around the club. He soon realises how pathetic this is, how desperate it seems and scolds himself. He's only just met the bloke, who of course has a life outside of Ste, as Ste has a life outside of Brendan. His kids are here for crying out loud, he should be giving them his full attention. So he does. He swallows down the itching urge to find Brendan, to talk to him, to see his smile and everything else, and makes his kids laugh. He swells with pride when Leah grabs her own coat and buttons it up for herself, rather than have him do it. He's sure that his face glows with it, as he smiles affectionately at his daughter. She beams up at him, clearly proud of herself, and takes his hand. He also takes Lucas' hand after he fastens his coat for him and they leave the empty ice cream glasses on the table for the staff. It's still raining when they go back outside, but Ste doesn't mind.

"What do ya wanna do now, kids?" He asks. Leah puts a finger to her lip as she looks off into the distance, a face of intense concentration; it's almost theatrical. Ste simply tuts, smiling nonetheless. His cheeks are starting to hurt from it.

"Can we go home and watch a film, daddy? It's cold now." Leah asks, looking up at Ste with big puppy eyes but she really doesn't need to because he's freezing, despite his layers, and there's nothing more he'd love right now than to be at home with his kids, sat in front of the telly with fluffy socks and hot chocolate.

"Of course, sweetheart. You okay with tha', Lucas?" Ste asks his son, who nods shyly with a coy smile. He begins to walk, when something catches his eye. For a moment, he could've sworn he saw movement in the shadows, like someone had been watching them. The thought is shrugged off as quickly as it came, because who would be watching him and his kids? There's no one he can see anyway, not from where he's standing. So he carries on walking, whistling tunelessly as he goes and ignoring the hair prickling feel of paranoia, ignoring the urge to turn around again. Firstly, it's half two in the afternoon, what exactly could this possible observer do to him without the whole of this small town seeing? Secondly, there's no one there and Ste's just obsessing over nothing, a habit he developed in his youth no thanks to Terry. Ste's been so consumed by his thoughts that he only just realises that they're in front of the front door. He shakes his head and sighs to himself, plunging into the depths of his coat pockets and fishing out the keys to open the door. Once opened, the kids run off into the hallway and strip themselves of their outdoor garments, before bounding into the living room and diving onto the sofa – Lucas doing so with a little more difficulty. Ste laughs merrily as he languidly takes off his soaked layers and goes into the bedrooms, getting pyjamas for them all.

They're about halfway into the film, Beauty and the Beast, when a loud, booming knock ricochets off the walls. Ste leaves the kids to suckles on their beakers of hot chocolate and answers the door, wondering who on Earth would bother to visit him at this time. The sight he sees when he opens the door is not one he would have ever anticipated. There, eyebrow bleeding, nose bleeding, face like thunder, is a panting Brendan Brady.

"Sorry, to uh, to come unannounced but I can't let Chez see me like this. Would ye mind if I came in?" He asks and Ste feels his heart ache at the sight, wonders when the hell Brendan became so important that he felt his pain and pulls him inside, closing the door behind him.

"Just avoid me kids seein' ya 'cause the blood might scare 'em." Ste warns him and Brendan nods, peeking through the doorway to the living room before darting through to the kitchen, where the door is open thank God, unseen. Ste walks into the living room and kisses his children's heads. "Daddy will be back in a second, okay kids? Just a friend." The kids nod, more absorbed by the film in front of them and Ste makes his way into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. "Who did this to you?" He asks, voice barely above a whisper as he tentatively reaches out to touch Brendan's cheek, before realising the intimacy of it and pulling away, muttering his apologies.

"S'okay Steven," Brendan shrugs, "just got off on the wrong foot with some dodgy bloke."

"Where is he now? I hope you gave 'im a good smack." Ste comments, smiling lightly, trying to lighten the mood but Brendan shudders a little and suddenly, Ste is overwhelmed by anxiety. The first night he saw Brendan, there was something about the man that suggested there was a less physical darkness to the man, rather than him being a dark, handsome man. He suddenly wonders what Brendan may have done to this man, because Ste can already tell Brendan isn't the type to live and let live. "Brendan… what did you do?"

"I hit him back, didn't I?" Brendan shrugs, putting on a front which Ste can't see through, a blank look, emotionless, and something about it makes Ste's stomach churn, unsettles it. How dangerous is this man he just invited into his home for the second time? He scolds himself then, silently, convinces himself he's over thinking things. Brendan seems to notice his internal battle and sighs. "I'm no saint, Steven," he mumbles, "but I can promise, I didn't do anything he didn't deserve." Ste nods his head and reaches for the first aid kit on top of the fridge. "I don't start the fight, I defend my corner." And Ste nods knowingly, because he knows what that's like, he's been there, he's done that. Sometimes, violence is the answer. The people that refuse to believe that end up getting hurt – severely. Almost as if these two souls, who barely know each other, are connected, they recognise the understanding in the other and stay silent, while Ste cleans up Brendan's cuts. The only sound in the kitchen being the occasional soft hiss of pain, when Ste wipes over a particularly sore cut.

"What are you gonna tell Cheryl?" Ste asks, when he's done with Brendan's wounds and is cleaning up the mess of bloodied tissues and pads. He packs the stuff away into the first aid kit and puts it back onto the fridge, turning around and leaning his back against the countertop, arms over his chest, looking at Brendan with something like expectance. He expects it of Brendan to answer him – and he does.

"Dunno, probably won't have to say much, she knows I'm not an angel." Brendan comments, "I feel guilty though, sometimes," he sighs, "because I'm a bad man and I've done a lot of bad things," Ste can see the darkness clouding Brendan's eyes as he recalls, what probably are, memories he doesn't want to relive, and Ste can relate to that darkness, "but ever since I saved her, all those yea rs ago, she's kissed the ground I walk on and it's just…" Ste nods. He knows, of course he does. He's never saved anybody, he's never had someone behave towards him the way Cheryl behaves towards Brendan, but he can guess and he can understand what he means.

"Yeah… I sometimes get angry at myself, ya know? 'Cause Amy, I've done so many bad things, but she's stuck with me, like, always been there for me and I really don't' deserve it." Ste mumbles, looking down, unable to meet Brendan's eye for his penetrating shame, fears that Brendan would somehow work out what he did and look on him with utter disgust. He expects him to ask questions, to press further, but he doesn't. When he looks up, Brendan isn't smiling, but he isn't frowning. There's an unexplainable look in his eyes and he doesn't question Ste, seems to have already worked out that he wouldn't want to talk about it, not yet at least, and also because Ste didn't push him. They barely know each other, but they both feel like they know a lot more than they should at this stage. "You wan' a cuppa? I'm not sure Beauty and the Beast would be your scene," Ste laughs, "but erm, you can join is if ya want. Means you won't 'ave ta face up to Cheryl any time soon, don't it?" Brendan smiles, it's the warmest smile he's smiled for anyone and he doesn't know why he's smiling like this for Ste, but he doesn't question himself or lose it, just nods his head and mumbles his thanks. Ste nods, corners of his lips also tugging up into a smile, but one that's more shy and sweet, then turns around and makes them both a drink.

The film finishes and the kids finally pay attention to the strange Irishman sitting next to their daddy – the strange Irishman who seems rather put out after watching the movie.

"Daddy, who's the hairy man?" Leah asks and Ste's eyes widen, heat rushing to his cheeks as he looks at Brendan, who's got an eyebrow quirked and an amused smirk on his face.

"Leah, his name is Brendan and he's daddy's friend," Ste corrects her, "and he just moved house." Leah gets up and jumps onto Brendan's lap, who's hands fly backwards in shock, eyes wide. Ste scolds Leah, but Brendan simply tells him it's no problem.

"You have a hairy lip." Leah comments and Brendan smirks again.

"Yes I do," he replies, "you don't." Leah giggles.

"Can I touch it?" She asks and by now, Ste is cowering into the pillows as embarrassment floods him. Where on Earth did Leah get her confidence from? However, he can't help the warmth that rushes through him as he sees Brendan with his daughter. But, this is a dangerous sight because it's making Ste think of daft little things that shouldn't even be on the agenda yet. He mentally slaps himself into sensible thinking.

"Of course." Brendan nods, never flinching or moving or frowning as Leah reaches out her tiny little hand, index finger pointed out to touch the hair above his lip. Ste realises he wants a stroke, too. The thought sounds dirty to him and he almost lets out a snigger, which Brendan notices. He turns his eyes to look at Ste with questioning and Ste, blushing and biting his knuckles, shakes his head and forces the Irishman into dismissing it completely.

"It's really soft." Leah comments, smiling as she continues to stroke it. Ste raises an eyebrow; he'd expected it to be rough like the rest of the Irishman's stubble, which had tickled his palm earlier when cleaning his face.

"Yeah well, I use conditioner on my hair so I figured why not use it on my facial hair." Brendan says, deadpan, and it causes the little one to giggle.

"Right, Leah," says Ste, also chuckling a bit at the Irishman's comment, "I'm sure Brendan's got better things to do than sit still while you prod at him."

"I really don't but I should probably go home anyway." Brendan shrugs and Ste smirks, loves that Brendan sounds as reluctant to leave as Ste is to make him go. He doesn't want to, but the kids are here tonight, as well as Amy, and Brendan isn't sleeping in the same bed as him. He could stay on the sofa, but Ste doubts he'd want to; he knows from many times of passing out drunk on it that it does no favours for people's backs.

"I'll see you soon?" Ste asks, tries to bite back the eager tone in his voice but fails miserably. Brendan just smiles, nods, gives Leah a little hug, shakes Lucas' hand and goes to the doorway. They say their goodbyes and Brendan gives Ste a cheeky slap on his arse before darting out of the door, laughing at Ste's squeak of surprise. The heat rises to his cheeks again but Brendan's already well out of the way, so he won't see it. He shakes his head and closes the door, head buzzing with thoughts of the mysterious Irishman, or as Leah calls him, the hairy man.


End file.
